heelers down aff pub
Sitting in a corner of O'Connells bar.
I am a brooding figure.
The original Irish hard man nursing a cup of tea.
Other regulars keep their distance when they see me.
All except Vivian Clarke.
"Hey Heelers," quoth he breezily, "I'm putting together a pageant for Easter. Will you take a part?"
"What part?" sez me.
"Saint Peter," replieth he.
"You want a balding red faced fat guy to play Saint Peter?" I enquire with false modesty.
"Yes," sez he without hesitation.
"I suppose I'll just have to act," I answer rumly.
"Great," sez he.
"You must be hard up asking me," murmureth the Mighty Heelers.
"To be honest we're desperate," expostulateth he.
And so it begins.I always knew I'd be Pope one day.
posted by heelers | 3:43 AM
4 Comments:
It may be yer only chance Mr. Heelers sir, carpe diem I say!
Yay! Please break a leg and whatever other appendages may be unnecessary! :)
Schnee, my hour has come round at last.
MJ, I hope I don't know what you mean.
James
Fingers, toes, nose, whatever works for you theatre-types. Or perhaps simply rub a potato on yourself and bury it in the garden at midnight. It cures warts; ought to ward off nasty critics, too. :)
Post a Comment
<< Home